


Tony

by atsuyuri_sama



Series: And I Must Scream [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Epilogue What Epiloge IM3, Fix-It, Gen, Language, Panic Attacks, Tony Feels, Unbeta'd, for Coulson, mention of PTSD, mentions of depression, off-screen nightmares, phantom pains, pre-Agents of SHIELD, spoilers for IM3, tony breaks up with pepper, unintentional guild-tripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 22:38:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atsuyuri_sama/pseuds/atsuyuri_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony sometimes panics, and his Reactor sometimes hurts, badly – it’s nothing new, but he’s also used to keeping those moments to himself. It doesn’t help when the Avengers all end up involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Code Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team witnesses one of Tony’s panic attacks. THEY don’t have much effect… Well, at least there’s Harley, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt at: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/17385.html?thread=38907881#t38907881

“Avengers, _assemble!”_

Tony is the master of his tower; he _built_ it, of _course_ he is! With JARVIS’s help, he knows everything that goes on in the renamed Avengers (nee Stark) Tower.

The way Steve’s shout – augmented by JARVIS’s speakers, utilized for just this purpose at times like these – rings through Tony’s closed off, darkened room would have been par for the course at night. But it wasn’t night, and the sound pierced Tony’s head like a sledgehammer. He kind of wants to cry.

He’s not a creep – that is to say, he doesn’t care to watch his teammates during their more… intimate moments – but he does have JARVIS keeping track 24/7 of their vitals. That’s really how it started, how he learned that – even with Iron Man, even under the heat of the Afghani sands, even as the only Avenger who fights with a clear mind who is also incidentally a civilian – he’s not as crazy as he thought he might be.

There’s things he’s been through, it goes without saying, that as a civilian, he had no point of reference for. And after the fact, the way that he finds himself reacting to those events, those memories, those scars… Until the other Avengers agreed to live in his tower, until he got a chance to see those who’d been _trained_ for this kind of thing (as much as anyone can be trained for dealing with giant, telekinetic squids rising out of the water over Long Island beach, anyway), and slowly realized he wasn’t alone. That didn’t mean that he wanted to announce the fact this way, didn’t mean that he wanted his weaknesses aired before the team in just under a week’s time, all at once.

It took some time to recognize each of their tells, each of their hair triggers, helpless moments, points of determination (both _not_ to fall prey to their own demons and the point when there _is_ no other choice but to do so), and comforts. While Tony, himself, would not be enough in most cases to rouse his teammates, he prides himself in being able to bring them out of lesser attacks at least by being able to identify an attack, and get them what they _do_ need.

Of course, none of the rest of the team knows this. They all think the planning and calling and such are just in-built functions of JARVIS, and not something Tony keeps a _very_ close eye on.

It’s because, at heart, every single one of them are lonely, suspicious, paranoid survivors, to be honest. Tony gleefully adds himself to that pile. No one – well, _almost_ no one – is allowed to see him at his worst. If he has to drag himself hand over hand to his lab and initiate lock-down in a scene far too similar to when Ob— _Stane_ stole his reactor, so be it! A Stark’s moment of weakness is not for others to witness. Too bad that it’s not an option anymore.

He still doesn’t feel bad, about watching his teammates when he did everything he could to hide himself.

Most of the time.

Everyone seems to have two stages – the first is a hyped-up version of a run-of-the-mill panic attack, which JARVIS calls ‘Code [color of the Avenger in distress]’, and announces to the other inhabitants as the situation arises and is recognized. The triggers for these vary for everyone, depending on how their day has gone, how much sleep they’ve had, how much stress they’re under: obvious things.

Not just anyone can approach them in some cases, because only very certain people are recognized and can lead the afflicted out of their attack. Tony has had conversations with JARVIS to this affect, and whenever the need arises, the AI “has the tendency to” ask the most appropriate Avenger for assistance, depending on who – and how – someone is panicking.

When Bruce’s Code Green is called, he’s a little green around the eyes; he’s always just a little out of breath; his hands clench and unclench without pause; and more often than not, he grinds his teeth. His file says that Betty Ross could bring him out of a Code Green almost faster than it could rise up… but she’s not around. The only one he reliably recognizes (and doesn’t see as a threat) is Clint, because in this stage, at the tipping point of a Hulk-out, his coherency is even worse than it is as the Hulk. If anyone else approaches him, Bruce is more likely to convince himself that they’re there to lock him up, and then he Hulks out. He has almost inhuman control of his emotional state, for obvious reasons, but he’s had enough Code Green’s in the last year (since the tower was filled by the Avengers) that Clint can reliably and comfortably talk him down in about half an hour or so.

When Code Purple is called on Clint, it’s usually a little late (and Tony will never tell Clint that his is ‘purple’ because, with his SHIELD-issue black suit and Natasha’s already-taken color, Tony just decided to point out the fact that he was straight as his drawn bow. In the most crass way available, of course; he’s Tony.). Clint tends to hole up in his nests – buried in the ventilation system that Tony specifically re-engineered to be _just_ large enough for a man Clint’s size and flexibility to climb around, with slightly larger pockets to nest in – when his wits escape him. He is a strange one as far as the team goes, because he tends to _recognize_ everyone, but that doesn’t stop his panic. He generally comes out of it on his own after two or three hours. If that doesn’t work, Either Natasha or Phil will crawl after him; a day later, they’ll return, and act like they were never missing to begin with.

Natasha’s Code Black is dangerous. She _is_ a trained assassin, after all. She gets colder than usual, and her words get clipped, short, perhaps disappear altogether. Tony and JARVIS know her heart rate speeds up incrementally, but it’s only enough to be noticeable if compared _after_ the fact, so it’s not really helpful. Other than that, no one really notices when she freaks out – even Phil and Clint, who’ve known her the longest, and know her the best, sometimes have trouble spotting it in her. But like Bruce, she has an uncanny recognition of her own emotional states, and usually takes it in her own hands, either signing up for a brutal two or three-day mission, or holing up in her floor on almost total lock-down. Only Clint and Phil are allowed on her floor when she gets like that.

Phil is a special case – he is for all of them, really. They got attached to his little Agent soul, and then he apparently died. There really was no helping how they all grew that much more attentive to him when out of the blue, one day, he showed up pressed and polished at the Tower door, claiming that Director Fury was done trying to find a suitable handler for his Initiative team (consequently, none of the Avengers trust Nick ’The-Lying-Liar-Who-Lies’ Fury anymore). His Code Grey is a regular old panic attack: shaky hands, out of breath, panicky, chest pains, lasting only for ten to fifteen minutes. But all of the team does their best to be there for Phil when it happens, and he’s cognizant enough to recognize and accept any of them, even if he doesn’t so much appreciate the over-crowding that happens when they get over-concerned about him.

Thor’s Code Yellow is pretty tame in comparison to everyone else’s. He grew up in a society that expected him to participate in great battles, and love them. Panic attacks really don’t factor into that kind of upbringing; it’s just not in his psyche to panic over a fight or enemy long-passed. Most of his Code Yellow’s occur just as he’s waking from a nightmare, are usually about Loki at his worst, and only last long enough for Thor to wake up… there’s still copious amounts of thunder and static charge, though – in an electronically-savvy place like the tower, they have to be careful when Thor hits his bad days. JARVIS, suffice it to say, is never amused.

More like his human counterparts than most would expect of the genetically-enhanced super-soldier, Steve’s own Cody Blue really are just panic attacks, like Phil’s. That’s what everyone misses when they see Steve – the man has been _enhanced,_ but not _altered_. He’s at the peak of human condition, and it’s amazing what he can do, but at the end of the day he’s still only human. He’s not been trained passed subconscious levels, like government agencies have a tendency to do to their action-oriented operatives, like Clint and Natasha. Tony is thankful for that – it means that Steve’s Code Blue’s don’t last too long, and the biggest danger anyone is in when he goes under is that maybe he forgets himself for a moment or two, and grips someone’s arms tightly enough to bruise. Steve’s so conscious of himself that, even lost in the haze of a panic attack, he’d never break bone.

And then there’s Tony.

As stated before, even if it dredged up memories of the time his figurative _heart_ was ripped out of his chest, he’s vain enough to try and keep his issues out of the lime light. But even the best of precautions fail eventually. No system can calibrate for _every possible outcome, period_ and still function. This just doesn’t happen to be his week.

Three days ago, the team had convened on the communal floor, as per schedule. Phil had been determined to bring the team together outside of battle, come hell or high water, when he first showed up, and it had manifested in Movie Night. Every Thursday, barring calls to assemble.

Even Tony could admit, it had been fun to culturally educate Thor and Steve, and to see just what everyone preferred in a movie. And to bond without bloodshed, but it wouldn’t be said aloud.

This, however, was not fun.

Clint had decided to go with a classic, revamped, in the 2009 reboot of Star Trek. That would have been fine… if Tony’d recalled in enough time to brace himself for the appearance of the big-ass wormhole in the middle of space. Bracing oneself for a known trigger is enough to withstand it for short periods, if one has the mental wherewithal and appropriate time from the incident in question that it no longer is an immediate concern – that was where Tony had firmly situated himself for about six months now. Something as small as a passing mention in casual conversation – there and gone again, in place of a new piece of conversation – of the Battle wouldn’t reduce him to gasping shakes. But being blindsided by a giant wormhole in the latest piece of entertainment?… Damn it all.

He’d taken one long, lasting look at the swirling vortex of Enterprise-doom, felt the phantom pull of his own Cube-powered menace, and was staggering back from the entertainment system – and his unsuspecting teammates – before he was really aware of moving at all. He’d stopped panicking at the drop of a hat months ago, so this one hit him all the worse for the recent reprieve.

Several cries of shock and alarm hung distantly in his roaring ears as he thumped, hard and real, against the back wall furthest from the television, then slumped down to curl around his up-drawn knees. A tiny voice in the back of his mind informed him sardonically that he was really going to regret that decision to stop at the quickest ‘safe spot’, but he ignored it easily: that rational voice would be loud enough again, given either ten or fifteen minutes for the attack to burn out on its own, or something to knock it loose.

“Sir, I’m detecting a Code Red. Shall I initiate the Tennessee Protocol?” JARVIS requested on the edge of his hearing. The others began babbling, their combined noise drowning out any response Tony might’ve made; they were a bright lot, and knew well-enough to figure out what Code Red meant, even if they’d never _heard_ it before.

Part of Code Red’s process was that if Tony _didn’t_ tell JARVIS to stop (or, alternatively, didn’t say anything at all), then the AI was to go ahead with the TP. After a long pause, presumably as the TP was activated, for the first time since he laid eyes on the graphics of the Trekkie wormhole, Tony heard a voice clearly, sounding from JARVIS’s speakers.

“Mr. Stark? It’s ten at night… Are you okay? JARVIS called.”

“A kid?” Tony heard Clint sputter.

“Huh? What’s—Who’s that? JARVIS, you are the one who called, right? My mom’s gonna be mad if I’m on the phone this late for no reason,” Harley Keener stated haltingly over the line.

“I am the one who requested you, young master, as per protocol. Sir is having… difficulties.” JARVIS soothed the boy. For a moment, there was silence, as everyone involved tried to figure out what was going on.

“Ah, Tony,” Harley sighed, realization coloring his tone. “Are you panicking again? ‘Cause I swear it wasn’t me this time!”

“… kid…!” Tony groan-gasped passed his fear-tight lungs, managing to roll his eyes and convey disdain nonetheless.

“Well it wasn’t,” Harley responded defensively. “But that’s not—Listen Tony, you need to breathe, okay? JARVIS, what’s going on?”

“We are in the Tower, young master. It is movie night; an unwise presentation was airing.”

“‘Unwise’?” Bruce murmured under his breath, sharing a concerned glance with Natasha.

“I—” Harley audibly sighed, but it had fond undertones. “Only you, Mr. Stark, only you. Fine: distractions!”

And in true Harley-fashion, he began to babble, much to the bemusement of the Avengers who were currently _not_ having a panic attack. “Umm… I’m working on a project for the Science Fair at school? Yeah, I got some ideas from some of the stuff you left in my garage – mom was surprised by the way. Some stranger comes by, helps me out of trouble, while filling me with sugar and giving me access to a dangerous mechanical suit, then leaves thousands of dollars worth of stuff in our garage for me? Yeah… I had a hard time convincing her it was okay; I think it was the letter you sent that really convinced her. What kid is gonna be visited by _Tony_ _Stark,_ am I right? Uh… Well, she’s seeing someone again. Don’t know _how_ I feel about him, but _she_ likes him… What else, what else… Hm… Oh, I really liked that robotics kit you sent me for my birthday! But I never did tell you when it was did I?… Do—Do you even know how old I was turning? That doesn’t seem like something you’d take the time to figure out, honestly…! It’s twelve, for the record. The box said it was for 18-and-older; do they not know what preteens are capable of, or what? I mean, so I’m a little adv—”

“Kid,” Tony tried to butt in, able to breathe with reliability again.

Harley barreled on, unaware of Tony’s recovery, “—ced for my age group, but only just a _little,_ really, I’m not that ba—”

“Harley!” Tony snapped. Abruptly, the flood of words ceased, leaving behind an abashed silence. “Thank you. But no, seriously: thanks, kid. I—uh, really, that was… great. Yeah.”

“You’re welcome,” and Tony could _hear_ the comfortable knowing in Harley’s voice. He knew just as well as Tony how difficult it was to admit that help had been needed, had been received, and – more than that – had been grudgingly, gratefully received. “So you’re okay now?”

“Right as rain, kid,” he grunted.

“Huh. Well, stay clear of movies, okay? I mean, it’s gotta be tough enough just _living_ there, right? No need to make it worse.”

“… Harley!”

“What? I didn’t actually _say_ anything!”

“Yes, thank you! Harley Keener, ladies and gentlemen, the semantics expert!” Tony snarked.

“Are you seeing a therapist yet?”

“Shut up. Shut up and go to bed; boys your age shouldn’t even be awake right now, should they? Don’t you have, like, a bedtime or something? Seven o’clock is… usually a kid’s bedtime, right JARVIS?”

“Seven?” Harley spluttered, offended. “I’m _twelve,_ Tony, not _five!”_

“Of course you are; but, bedtime? You have one, don’t you? Surely your mother—”

“Yes! Yes, okay, I’ve got a bedtime. If you _have to know,_ it’s in an hour.”

“No it’s not – it’s right now.”

“What? Why?!”

“Because I said so. Go – get off the phone. Go to bed; you’ve done your job. Thank you and good night!” Tony dismissed him in the usual, brisk Stark manner, even waving his hand (and conveniently ignoring the sheen of sweat still on his face from moments ago).

Harley huffed audibly over the line, and then – in a softer, more affectionate tone, unknowingly mirroring those who put up with Tony willingly on a daily basis – Harley muttered, “Yeah, alright – I’ll go. I’m _not_ going to bed, but I’ll get off the phone. Have a good night, Tony.”

Tony would never admit it, but a hint of affection seeped into his voice as he muttered in reply, “G’night, Harley. Sleep well.”

The call disconnected with a faint click. And then Tony remembered – far too belatedly to do anything about it that could salvage his dignity – about the others. They were standing in a loose ring around where he’d pressed himself against the wall what felt like forever ago, nobody too close, but also nobody farther away than the middle of the room. Each of them wore expressions – or, lacking that, in the case of a super-composed Phil and Natasha, gave off the air of – confusion, concern, and hesitant guessing. It was Steve who finally spoke up.

“Tony,” and his voice was laced with heavy concern, and just a bit of the Captain Tone, “What was that?”

“It was nothing.” Nobody could accuse him of not trying.

“Tony.” The concern was still etched into that face, but Steve was in full Captain-mode now – he was in charge, and he expected to be answered.

“A Code Red,” Tony threw out, hoping to win the proverbial lottery and be able to get around the conversation, just this once, by being truthful but vague.

Unfortunately for Tony, vague was all well and good, but Steve wasn’t stupid, either. His blue gaze sharpened, flickered up to the ceiling, over to Tony, back to the paused movie, and again to Tony before he nodded. “That vortex—”

“Let it go, Capsicle!” Tony snapped, too close to a snarl to be anything other than uncomfortable, desperate.

“We all have bad memories, Stark,” Natasha slipped in, eyes sharp.

“And we can work around them,” Phil volunteered calmly, “but only if we know they exist in the first place. Having trouble with something is normal – we’ve all got our triggers, it’s part of the job – but we won’t know that we need to do anything if you approach a trigger if we don’t know it doesn’t exist.”

Tony ducked his head, avoiding gazes as his fists clenched at his sides and his team ganged up on him.

“It sounded like that boy knew what was going on, Tony. I’m sure Clint never would’ve picked that movie if he’d known you would’ve had problems with it.” Bruce insisted.

“Of course!”Clint yelped, earnest. “That’s what we do for everyone. Damn, Stark, I didn’t mean to choose something that would prod sensitive places; you’re just so quiet about everything that nobody knew you _needed_ that kind of consideration! Here I was, thinking you were some sort of super-civilian, too.”

“I’m fine!” Tony protested, unwilling to meet anyone’s eye.

“Obviously you’re not, Tony,” Steve disagreed. “That was a break down, pure and simple.”

“Man of Iron,” Thor offered his opinion, voice subdued and concerned. “Shield-brothers know about one another. It is part of the warrior’s pact, part of fighting alongside your brother, to know their deepest fears as they know your own. It is not the way, to hide yourself from us.”

“Hide myself from you…?” Tony echoed, and heard his own words from far away. His chest tingled with building rage, and he staggered to his feet, finally meeting searching gazes. He watched dispassionately as they flinched away from his fierce eyes and the tight, rictus grin his teeth had stretched into. A harsh bark of laughter pulled incredulously from his throat. “ _Hide myself_ from you?!”

“Fuck that!” His arm swept wildly out, as though to strike one of them though they were all farther away than his arm’s reach, or to swipe the conversation away.

“You want to know what’s bothering me? Where the fuck were all of you after that battle, then, when I was waking up from fucking nightmares three and four and five times a damn night?! Where were you when Pepper was trying to keep me together, when all that made sense to me was building more and better suits?! Where the _fucking hell_ were _any of you_ when the Mandarin took over _all the **American television networks,**_ when bombs were _launched at my **home,**_ or when the news _was sure I was dead?! Where the fuck **were** you?”_

“What I know is that, after diving head-first into a wormhole with a nuke on my back, what we did was grab Loki, send him back to Asgard, and went our damn separate ways. What I do know was that I did my best to pull myself back together. What I know was that I tried to do it by dating Pepper, and screwing us both over – I wasn’t ready for a committed relationship, and she didn’t deserve to deal with my shit both in her professional and her private life.

“What I _do_ know was that, at the end of the day, the _only one_ who was willing to listen to me – because you weren’t here, Rhodey and Pepper wouldn’t hear me out, and Happy hardly ever saw me because of his new job – was a ten year old kid whose garage I crashed for supplies, in Tennessee, in the middle of winter! What I do know was that Harley was the only one who was there for me without reserve, and… And he’s the only one I can count on.”

By the end of his tirade he’d worn himself down, and the last sentence was a raw whisper. The others were wide-eyed and stunned into pained silence, and Tony found himself quietly filling the space in with more words, because if he could do anything, it was talk.

“Pepper knew I had a bad time of it only because we slept together. But most of the time, I didn’t _sleep_ in the bed, so she didn’t even realize how bad it had gotten until I came clean. Rhodey is my best friend, but I’m not an idiot: I’m a _really_ hard person to be a friend for. He hasn’t had a good sense of my reputation or the things I do for a really long time; he’s always ready for the next screw up. I couldn’t come to him with something like that. Happy was my body guard and my driver, not my confidant. He was so excited to have a job that didn’t make people laugh at him, after the whole ‘Iron Man’s bodyguard’ thing, that he hardly ever saw me; that was okay, because he was interested in Pepper anyway – if he was focused on her, I could know she’d be safe.

“When they came at the mansion with enough fire-power to take down an army… I was so scared that Pepper would die. Pepper, who has nothing to do with any of this, except that she is one of the few people who are close to me. And then the house was gone, the armors were gone, and the only link I had to JARVIS was the experimental suit I was wearing. And even that disappeared, when I crashed in Tennessee. I was completely and utterly alone. The last time that happened, I drunk-engineered the world’s first high-functioning AI – Dummy – just so I wouldn’t—” he faltered, a bitter laugh surprised out of him, and the others flinched, “So I wouldn’t have to be _so fucking **alone.”**_

“But when I party-crashed this—this _kid’s_ workspace, and he came at me with a damn _potato gun,_ of all things… He stopped. He listened. I mean, he _really_ listened.” And Tony hated just how broken open he sounded by that concept, here, now, in front of his teammates. He was not weak. He wasn’t. Grimly, thinking of Harley, he chuckled, “Sure, I mean, at first he was even more fucking likely than anyone to _cause_ a panic attack – kid couldn’t shut up about the important stuff if his life depended on it – but he was just as quick to turn right back around and try to fix it, try to distract me, try to bring me back and make the world make sense again.”

“Do you even know what it’s like, for a guy like me – who has just _intuitively_ _knows_ what the world can throw at him since he was little – to suddenly _not_ know? All the little cogs of the universe just… made sense, or if they didn’t, I could figure them out, and then fate decides to just… toss this little screwball in my direction. And the one stable thing in my world was a ten year old kid with an over-worked single mother, absent father, and a view of the world very similar to my own at his age. He’s brilliant, you know. And he was my solid rock when the Mandarin came knocking.

“So don’t – just _don’t_ – come up to me like you know what the fuck’s been going on in my life. Don’t assume that just because we fought together that you get the keys to my head. Don’t think that just because you’re the first people I’ve offered into my home, into my personal space, into my private life – and the first people who have taken it up, and used it, and not run away yet, because one day you’ll realize how stupid this is, and then you’ll be gone, too – that you can just lord this over me. Just don’t.” He snarled softly, furious and worn down and broken and bleeding and hurt and desperate and embarrassed all at once.

They all had varying levels of hurt on their faces, of shame and discomfort and guilt. Usually that didn’t work on Tony. But even more than he was willing to admit, he had gotten quickly attached to Bruce; somehow, someway, that even the other scientist had never intended – because he was a painful little recluse at the best of times, thanks to the Other Guy – Bruce had gotten under Tony’s skin. And with Bruce all contrite like that…

“What if we didn’t assume it was due us?” he asked softly, shyly. “What if… What if we, well, asked? What happened, that is? What, then?”

Tony spent a precious few seconds just digesting that, unaware how vulnerable his crumpled expression was. He blinked and it cleared, and the fierce look in his eyes was normal. He grinned savagely at his Science Brother as he grabbed the mousy-haired man by his elbow and towed him out of the room. He wasn’t ready for more than an audience-of-one right now. But it was enough.

He flopped onto the over-sized couch in his lab and carelessly directed Bruce into his rolling chair. With a great, Starkian flourish of his arms, he declared in a superior tone, “You asked for it, Brucey!”

Then he heaved a great sigh, as it occurred to him just what he was doing, and in a much more subdued tone, he offered, “A famous man once said, ‘We create our own demons.’… Who said that, what does it even mean, doesn’t matter – I said it ‘cause he said it. So, now, he was famous, and it’s basically getting said by two well-known guys…”

“I don’t—Uh…” Tony winced as he realized, in his nervousness, he’d rambled right off the subject. “Let me start again,” he offered, and Bruce grinned knowingly, nodding, a hint of sleep at the late hour crinkling his eyes. “Let’s track this from the beginning – it started in Bern, Switzerland, 1999…”

And he spent the next three hours waxing poetic about his fight against the Mandarin, his work in nowhere-town, Tennessee, and Aldrich Killian.

“… and so, as Christmas morning began, my journey had reached it’s end. You start with something pure, something exciting, then come the mistakes, the compromises. We create our own demons. As promised, I got Pepper sorted out; took some tinkering, but then I thought to myself: ‘Why stop there?’”

Again, Tony winced, admitting, “Of course, you know how that went. When a practiced surgeon like Yensin tells you that there’s no way to remove all the shrapnel without killing the patient, you listen. Otherwise, you go into surgery with great hopes… and come out with an even greater dependence on the continued existence of the Arc Reactor in your chest, and a renewed need to tinker. Pepper was _not_ happy – I still had one suit, and I had yet another reason to mess with it even in peace time – so once more, I am single. But, well, hey: Iron Man’s still an asset to the Avengers since we actually started being a team! You’re not stuck with a version of me that – without the power of a reactor – can’t power an Iron Man suit, and ends up just being, like, the ‘team mechanic’, or something equally cheesy.”

Tony looked up to discover Bruce had fallen asleep. He was okay with that, surprisingly; now, he could maybe get up the courage to tell the others (or, even better, just have JARVIS run the recording of this rendition). So he’d done what Tony Stark just didn’t do: he’d bared his soul, he’d trusted one of his teammates, and he’d admitted to himself that leaning on these people probably (might be) a (maybe) good thing, after all.

… And still, within the space of three days, fate decided he needed one more screwing over.


	2. Iron Alert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate is just determined to show Tony’s team his bones, bare and scraped raw, isn’t she?
> 
> Prompt at: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/17385.html?thread=38897129#t38897129

With as much carnage as each of the Avengers has seen over their lives, it isn’t unreasonable to think that they might be susceptible to more than just a ‘panic attack’ (or Avenger-equivalent, as encountered). And Tony prides himself on being able to think of most eventualities.

That’s why, for every Code, there’s also a leveled-up warning, in the form of Alerts.

With how super-human-strong most of the Avengers have the potential to become, it’s imperative that the others are warned as soon as possible that something has happened, and the better-informed they are about the relative mental state of their companions during said times, the better. It makes for a quicker response time, a reduction in property and personnel damages, and ensures that all the members of the Avengers can be assured that – even when they aren’t in their right minds – their teammates know how to handle them. Trusting your teammates to catch you when you’re falling is a good thing, according to all those teamwork exercises Steve was always pushing on them, anyway.

Like their Codes, each of the Alerts is personalized. When he programmed them in, Tony’d already used colors, and he just decided that creativity could go shove itself – their codenames would work as well as anything.

The Hulk Alert is the one that goes off the most often. If Bruce is worse than Code Green, then he’s Hulked out, no ‘if’s, ‘and’s, or ‘but’s about it. The Hulk is better about acknowledging each of the Avengers as friends, since the Battle, but when he pulls a Hulk without battle-prompting, the person he seems to be the most comfortable with is Clint. If Clint’s not around – unlike a Code Green – the others can talk the Hulk down, too, though. It’s really just a matter of assessing what set him off in the first place, and fixing it; when not in battle, the Hulk is actually super-docile when he wants to be.

The Hawk Alert is one of the more dangerous ones. Clint gets completely lost in a memory of an old op, and super-imposes it on reality. He is just as likely to shoot at any of them as he is to ignore, or even try to ‘save’ one of them, except Phil – even Natasha is not exempt. During a Hawk Alert, the only way to bring him down is to knock him out, or get Phil in a place – either physically, or with a comm that they somehow get into Clint’s ear – where he can talk Clint back to reality. It helps that Coulson knows almost every single op that Clint was ever assigned, as the agent’s only handler in all his employment at SHIELD.

The Widow Alert is a toss-up. Either she recognizes what’s going on, and chooses to voluntarily channel her energy into drinking every one of them expect Thor under the table, or she loses herself to the lie that the Red Room told her of her life – of parents that never existed, of a passion for ballet, of a job and a home that was never more than a flimsy cover – and has a civilian-style freak-out (in Russian) after finding herself in a tower and surrounded by people she does not recognize. The best way to bring her out of it is to either show her the ballet studio-slash-training room on her floor and let her dance it out, or to wait until she falls asleep. During the Alert, there is zero recognition – or trust – of any of them; all they can do is manipulate events so she comes out of it as peacefully as possible.

Just like Phil’s Code is super-mild in comparison to the others, so is his Agent Alert. Basically, if pushed far enough, he reaches beyond Code-level panic attack, and into shock. Actual shock – shakes, sweats, shallow and rapid heartbeat, hyperventilation, the whole shebang. While it’s nowhere near as destructive as the other Alerts in the Tower, and while Phil reliably recognizes everyone, it’s still more imperative to his health to treat his shock than it is for any of the others’ and their immediate health to be brought out of their Alerts; it’s a medical issue, in his case, more than a mental one.

Thunder Alert is difficult to handle. Instead of a battle rage, when Thor finally – rarely – gets pushed over the edge, he gets melancholy to the nth degree. He will grow unresponsive and despondent, the heavens will break open with great torrents of rain and heavy rumbles of thunder, and he losses all contact with reality. So far, it’s only happened once, and after four days and no response, they finally called Doctor Foster up on Skype, and she was able to coax him out of his depression. He disappeared after that for two days – apparently, it was to go see Jane in the flesh. Tony doesn’t know how long Thor could have kept that up, without Jane’s intervention, and frankly, he doesn’t want his teammates to be in such a bad place that they have to find out.

America Alert frightening to witness. In spite of the very _human_ nature of his Code, it is Steve’s Alert that brings to mind just how different the Serum made him. Like Thor, he gets lost in his own mind, unaware of the world around him, but like Clint, it’s because he’s experiencing something else entirely. He, for all intents and purposes, gets hypothermic. It doesn’t matter how hot it is, or how normal his temperature _actually_ reads – he shivers so hard that even if he were coherent there’d be no room for _words_ , he mumbles and moans incomprehensibly, he tenses up, his lips go blue and the rest of him goes pale, his breath goes worryingly shallow. They nearly have to over-heat him most of the time, to just try and make him coherent enough to understand what his subconscious is doing to him, if they can’t get his attention otherwise. Much to Tony’s confusion, _he_ is the one who is most likely able to bring the Super Soldier back, with pats to his face, rubbing his arms, and a constant stream of reassurance and simple ‘hear my voice, I am speaking to you’ babble.

And, again, then there’s Tony.

Unlike the others, his own Alert isn’t a fall-out into something ‘greater than’ a panic attack – that is to say, the one doesn’t usually come after the other, as in the other Avengers’ cases. He doesn’t need to have a panic attack, and be pushed beyond that – he can’t be; he’s too caught up in his own mind (and too familiar with a situation like being drunk, and caffeine-high, while running on less than three-hours’ sleep in four days) for a loss of reality like that to be possible. No, his Alerts are almost like clockwork, and are completely physical in nature… well, until the pain makes him flashback, but those are effects, not causes.

After pouring his heart out to Bruce, he had to escape – getting up the courage to reveal himself, and then getting up the courage to overcome decades of conditioning and stick around immediately after the unveiling are two very separate things. So he’d been holed up in his lab for two days when his chest began to twinge, and his base temperature began to rise, and he cursed, doing what he could to wrap up his projects for a long two days laid up. This was the ‘clockwork’ aspect of his Alert: about every six months, he’d get these mild symptoms, and they were a warning for the next two days, which would be filled with delirious fever, spiking phantom pain around his reactor, and miserable incoherency.

That was the Iron Alert. That was what Tony had also kept from his teammates; at four days a year, there was a very small chance, indeed, that a call to Assemble would come on his bad days. He’d been lucky so far.

But he’d been in solitary down in his lab for two days already, and his team was getting more and more involved in his personal life… He hoped that they could hold out for two more days, or – more likely – that JARVIS could redirect their attentions. JARVIS had yet to fail him. It was his only chance; there was only so much he could be exposed to others before he began to cross his own tolerance level. They see him come up from his lab, and he doesn’t try to hide – it’s when you look like you’re hiding something that people like his teammates get suspicious – he just says he’s spent so long in his lab that JARVIS has locked everything down until such time as he gets a decent rest. So, yeah, he’s gonna be in his room, of course.

And then, with barely five minutes interaction, he disappeared once more.

When he woke at four in the morning hours later, it’s because he’s burning up. He was soaked in sweat, shivering uncontrollably, his vision was wavering, and in spite of the chills wracking his body in the backwards fashion of all horrible fevers, a truly burning, tearing, boiling, twisting _pain_ radiates endlessly from the glowing piece of machinery lodged in his chest. Tony moans pitifully, only partially aware of the noises that he’s making, and JARVIS’s voice – specifically modulated for hangovers, head injuries that amplified feelings of nausea with loud noises, and Iron Alerts – sounded carefully from the speakers.

“Sir, I have initiated procedure for Iron Alert; you will be fine in approximately 46 hours, 18 minutes. Please, sir… Just breathe. It will be over, soon,” his electronic voice was tinted heavily with concern and compassion.

When a spike of rising pain stole his breath and set white sparks dancing across his sight, Tony wheezed in inarticulate pain and fell into a fevered memory of Afghanistan. He curled on his side and shivered in the warm darkness of his room. He clung desperately to his sanity with tooth and nail, and to JARVIS’s calm, voiced presence with everything else.

For the next few hours, he drifted erratically in and out of coherency, consciousness, and fever-laden dreams and hallucinations. Under JARVIS’s calm, steady, and _insistent_ instruction, he slowly made his way from the sweat-sopping sheets of his bed to the chilled tiles of the bathroom, where JARVIS had set up a gentle shower spray of slightly-cooler-than-room-temperature water. The water felt nice on his flushed skin, soothing both his fever and his pain, and kept him marginally more aware than just laying in bed. When JARVIS was finally able to coax him back to bed, it was to fresh sheets and a new set of pajama pants, ostensibly provided by one of the numerous cleaning robots active throughout the Tower (because after Stane’s betrayal, Tony refused to risk the security of his home for anything, even a maid service). It was in this way that his Iron Alert was broken up into moments of calm – either bathing, or supplied with small bits of food – thanks to JARVIS’s actions.

According to the glowing numbers on the bedside table – when Tony was roused not by JARVIS’s carful tones but the Captain’s sharp bark of, “Avengers, _assemble_!” – there were about 15 hours left of his Iron Alert. So Tony kind of wants to cry, because it’s been a _rough_ four days.

There was _no way_ he was fit for active duty, not like this. But he couldn’t think of an excuse fast enough to be good enough for a Captain America in Mission Mode; Tony could feel his heart racing faster as he began to panic.

“I’m afraid Sir has taken ill, Captain,” JARVIS murmured (and Tony calmed, because JARVIS had a handle on it; and he was grateful, that JARVIS had seen fit to route his answer to both Steve and Tony, so Tony would know what was going on) respectfully, “He has been in no condition to leave his room to get something from the common area, let alone leave the Tower to fight foes, for some time.”

“I—JARVIS, what?” Steve’s voice was a mix of shock, concern, frustration, and annoyance. “Why didn’t Tony let us _know_ he wasn’t doing well?! Never mind; we’ll make do. We have to. But JARVIS, please let Tony know that, when we get back, we will be having _words_ about this, will you, please?”

“Of course, Captain,” JARVIS demurred, though even Tony, not at his best, could hear the faint note of defensive protectiveness in the mechanical voice in reaction to Steve’s frustrated tone. Tony smiled faintly, warmed by the show of affection. “We will be waiting. Return safely.”

Of all the quirks JARVIS had acquired over the years, one that Tony found endearing and encouraging, as one of the sure-fire indicators that JARVIS was a fully-functioning and autonomous AI system. That he showed human emotions, such as concern, especially when Tony’d never programmed it, was amazing to his creator. Whenever Tony had to go out as Iron Man, JARVIS was alright because he was right there in the suit with Tony, but whenever any of the other Avengers went out on missions that didn’t require Iron Man, he would bid them farewell in that manner: ‘Return safely.’ Apparently, his affection for the team went beyond any unintentional slights they might have made at Tony.

Dimly, Tony heard the Captain signing off. A few moments later, the roar of the Quinjet taking off from the Tower’s roof rattled his windows.

“The Tower has been vacated, sir. Shall I hack into the comms and keep tabs?”

“Yeah,” Tony rasped, concerned for his teammates. In spite of that, five minutes into JARVIS’s blow-by-blow, another round of pain swamped him, blowing his awareness – and his wavering lucidity – out the proverbial window.

He came around to an absurdly gentle pair of arms scooping him out of his twisted sheets. Beyond the fuzziness of his current level of concentration, he could make out JARVIS speaking, and frowned, burying himself in the warm chest of his transportation with a reluctant whine. He didn’t _care_ if the AI said it was high-time for another shower; he didn’t want to _move,_ it _hurt._ He whined again, louder, as he was settled against the shower’s tile and carefully disrobed, eyes clenched shut against the intrusion of the harsh bathroom lights. Only when the soothing rain of water began did Tony realize he’d been _carried,_ and that, whoever it was, was still there, gently rubbing shampoo into his aching head while he slumped against them.

“…’re alright, Tony. You’re okay. That’s it – see? Isn’t this better than that mess of a bed you’ve got? JARVIS says the water should help with your temperature, and I’ve always felt better after getting clean, while I don’t feel good,” Steve was murmuring, a steady stream of words like JARVIS had done: not counting on Tony to answer or even understand him, but talking for the billionaire’s benefit, to ease his subconscious. “We’re still going to talk about this, later, Tony. Just because you’re ill doesn’t mean you get away from the unpleasant consequences of not trusting _your team._ But you do need to get better first. You’re gonna be okay. It feels like the water’s helping with your fever, too – doesn’t it feel nice? I bet it does. Always felt nice to me, too, back when I was a stick that could catch anything and everything…”

Through the whole ordeal, Tony blinked heavily, hovering between awareness and unconsciousness, letting Steve’s monologue wash over him like the water. JARVIS was great – JARVIS was awesome – but having another living, breathing _person_ around, not just talking to him but _touching him,_ grounding him through the haze of heat and pain… that was nice.

It was as Steve was tucking the newest set of sheets around him (and settling into a _chair_ by his bed? Since when did he have a _chair_ by his bed?!) that Tony shook the lethargy free and truly surfaced again, and JARVIS was quick to notice.

“Sir, are you awake?” his voice was curt with the frustration that comes from worrying but being unable to _do_ anything about it. Tony flinched guiltily, realizing what had more-than-likely occurred. The AI confirmed it, “I would appreciate being _listened to,_ in the future. I realize you had not desired the team to know of the existence of the Iron Alert, but when you would not respond to me, I had to enlist a physical presence. Captain Rogers was more than willing to assist. I am but a voice in the walls, sir – when I ask you to do things, it is up to you to do them, especially if you are ill and the instructions are to your benefit.”

“Sorry, J,” Tony offered, his voice a slurring rasp. “Didn’t mean t’; don’t ‘member.”

If he’d programmed a sigh-routine into JARVIS’s vocals, Tony was sure the AI would be using it; as it was, there was a small but poignant pause before he answered. “That is what I assumed, sir.”

“I would appreciate it if,” JARVIS continued, wryly, knowing he couldn’t be obeyed and yet – like a human – unable to _not_ voice some kind of protest, “in the future, you did your best to not worry me so. It is most difficult to be bound here and yet unable to assist you in your time of greatest need.”

“Sorry, JARVIS,” Tony repeated, as helpless to keep himself from worrying JARVIS as he was helpless to avoid the Iron Alerts. “’ll try.”

“Alright, now,” Steve hummed, and Tony’s gaze whipped around in surprise, catching on blue, attentive eyes, “I’ve already said I’ll be your hands for this, JARVIS. And you’re nearing the end of your Alert, Tony – you’re looking a little less peaky. Close your eyes; try to get some rest. We can discuss whatever issues anyone has with Tony’s ability to _follow orders_ when he’s well, I think.”

“Of course, Captain. Thank you, again,” JARVIS complied, graciously.

For Tony’s part, his eyes were already closing on him, as his body recognized what Steve had just given voice to. At least on the tail-end, Tony could be mostly assured that his hallucinations were more or less over, and that the worst Steve would be exposed to was maybe one or two more dramatic fluctuations in his temperature, and some sleep talking. The last thing he wanted was for the Super Soldier to see him at his literal, screaming worst.

For the next ten hours, Steve hovered nearby and acted – as promised – as JARVIS’s hands. It was nice, in it’s own way, because it meant that Tony was carried to the shower instead of having to stumble there on his own weak limbs, and that a gentle hand carded through his hair when Steve thought he was asleep. Tony had a sneaking suspicion that Steve and JARVIS had already come to an agreement, and that Steve would be returning for the next Alert… he wasn’t so fond of _that_ development.

And – also as promised – the next day, Tony was sat down by the other Avengers, and forced to explain the phenomena of his Iron Alerts. So now, not only did they all know about his panic attacks, but they knew about the rebellion of his body against that very thing which was keeping him alive. If things went their way – that they would be made aware of his Alerts, just as everyone was told of any other Alert – and they _would,_ because JARVIS had always told him he was stupid for keeping himself so isolated from the team, soon everyone would know him at his worst.

They would see the scars that Afghanistan left – both physical and emotional. They would hear bits and pieces (as he sobbed and screamed, mid-hallucination) of his past. They would know what his weak points were. (Just as he knew theirs. He did his best to protect them from their hurts, or – barring that – to protect them _during_. There was no reason they would not do the same. Right?)

And somehow – in spite of how _raw,_ and _open,_ and _exposed_ the last couple of days had left him – somehow, Tony felt like more a part of the team then ever before.

(It was nice – wonderfully new – to see Steve smile at him in relief and joy and companionship, when his fever finally broke, and he finished coming down from his Alert. He wouldn’t mind that again, even if everything else would take some getting used to.)


End file.
